


indistinct

by litteringfire (heartrapier)



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5981959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartrapier/pseuds/litteringfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Misaki whispers, “Kourin,” throwing herself closer onto the counter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on [tumblr](http://litteringfire.tumblr.com/post/138394490714)

The last sound she hears is of her jaws clicking.

Stepping backwards and stumbling onto the shelf on her back, it takes Misaki a while to regain her hearing. The world stops moving except for her and the hand reaching out from across the counter, a vanguard card held together with a thumb whose nail is beige and also very familiar—electricity runs through Misaki’s cheek, crackling with a caressing memory. It takes considerably less time for her to look up and begin comparing this person with the framed photograph she keeps in the confinement of her bedroom. Her breath is caught because she is exactly the same—the right length of hair and the right gleam on the eyes, the bend of her shoulders and the tilted head.

And Misaki whispers, “Kourin,” throwing herself closer onto the counter.

The woman in front of her is startled, a foot pulled back, two hands emphasising the distance between the two of them. She doesn’t have her hair tied on the side or the neatly-parted fringe, but she is undoubtedly Kourin, and when she says, “Excuse me,” Misaki trembles with disbelief; she’s almost forgotten how Kourin sounds, the traces of words Kourin has ever spoken to her that she can rewind in her head are depleting, and every time Misaki loses an intonation within the memory she would ache with regrets and longing. But now Kourin is here, and Misaki is going to absorb everything she can register.

“A girl dropped this card outside. I saw her go inside this shop. Can you possibly give this to her?” Kourin says, almost suspiciously losing breath, cheeks reddening as she keeps her eyes trained on Misaki in an obvious attempt to be polite.

Misaki frowns. This person may not have been 100% Kourin but Misaki can vouch for the last few percents; she knows every inch of Kourin’s edges, after all, even the moles on her shoulder blade—but the formal tone and stiff gestures are against her confidence.

“You don’t remember me,” Misaki says, half as a test and half as a hopeless statement.

The woman purses her lips and nods her head in the way that gives Misaki _deja-vu_ —almost, a breath held—and when she speaks next it’s Kourin’s voice. “Sorry, have we met before?”

Her heart does not beat as fast anymore; the pain from the nails digging into her own palms is disappearing, too. It scares Misaki that this outcome does not drive her into tears, that her disappointment is simply filed away into the hole Kourin has left within her.

“Ah, then no, nevermind. You looked like someone I know,” she slides to fix her position and softly grabs the card the woman–not Kourin–holds out, recognises Compass Lion. “Do you remember the girl?”

The woman snaps back to attention, fumbles into her fingers. “I only saw her back so I can’t be sure.”

Misaki finds herself on the edge of a smile. She leans over the counter, brushes the woman’s sleeve, cringes at how it stuns her. (Desperation is something Misaki wishes doesn’t affect her, doesn’t make her touch others in a fit of need.) “Any one of you Great Nature players missing a Compass Lion?” she calls out, waving the card in question at the humble amount of players hanging by the tables.

Instantly a number of players shift through their deck until a young girl, who is seated close to the back, gasps, “Me!” She makes a trot towards the counter, holds her returned card with relief. “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me, she is the one who found it for you,” Misaki chuckles, gesturing at the woman, who starts at the sudden mention and looks overwhelmed when the girl beams at her.

The woman crouches down and pats the girl on the head, a smile on her face. Misaki clutches at her elbow, refusing to acknowledge a smile so genuinely Kourin. The girl excuses herself after another thank you, and when the woman stands back up, Misaki has managed to compose a trained facade.

“Thanks a lot for trying to return that card for her,” Misaki winces as their eyes meet, “it may only be one card, but it means a lot.”

The woman nods hesitantly, looks away to break eye contact, blushing to her ears. (That’s Kourin, too. Misaki is tempted to shoo the woman away, her very presence unnecessary and dangerous.) “So this is…a shop for card games?”

“Yes,” her voice level, Misaki focuses her attention on the unopened boxes on her side, glad that at least she is not meeting those same green eyes anymore, “the most popular game at the moment is Vanguard. Have you ever played before?”

The woman shakes her head, supplies, “No, I haven’t…had the time.”

All Misaki needs right now is time to properly accept the fact that not every Kourin-lookalike will love her the way her Kourin did; that there is no use in trying to lean into the arms that are not even welcoming her. But Misaki straightens and it’s clear and sure when she speaks, “I can teach you, if you want.”

The air cackles as their eyes catch the other’s. The woman scrutinises her gaze, and immediately Misaki presses her lips together and softens the hope in her smile.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” the woman looks sheepish; Misaki cannot decide if the woman is only stalling her rejection or if she is actually thinking about it.

“It’s not a bother. Vanguard is fun, I want people to enjoy it.”

The woman seems to study Misaki’s every word, taps on her chin with an index finger. It is only after a heave that the woman gives a bow and says, “I’m very sorry, I don’t think I have the time to do this.” She lifts her head and her eyes are darker; she doesn’t quite frown but may as well be. With the quietest turn she shifts on her feet and makes her way towards the entrance. The swift sound of the sliding door echoes with the woman’s added apology and she leaves after another, higher-angled bow.

Her departure is faster than her nervous entrance—or maybe it’s just Misaki’s perspective, as she did spend a good few minutes running through reminiscents in the beginning until finally the light-up image before her very eyes break into a plain imitation. It’s harsh for the woman; it’s not her fault she resembles Kourin, but Misaki blames her, anyway.

Because for a moment there Misaki had seen Kourin and had felt whole again, heart swelling and alive, palms warm with the anticipation to touch. She had fallen in love again only to keep falling, no end in sight.

Sighing, her nail scratching at the box’s tape, she rips open the package to muffle a sniff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is??? probably going to be continued??? but yeah. there'll probably be a second chapter. maaaaaaaaybe. very unsure maybe, this one.


	2. before,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misaki has long concluded it will never happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhhhhh i found... a prequel i wrote for this fic on my draft so uh. i guess its nagging me to continue this.
> 
>  
> 
> [on tumblr](http://litteringfire.tumblr.com/post/144639524514/dim)

There are times during her waking moments where Misaki would look up and glance at every sliver of blond hair that passes her by; sometimes she trips on her own feet and sometimes she just halts mid-step, and sometimes Kamui would run into her back because she is not moving, her eyes fixed at the face that accompanies every long blond hair within the vicinity.

Kamui never says anything about it, only complains about the crowd despite its very lack of presence. He always steps forward every time this happens, leads the way for Misaki to follow, and waits when she is once again distracted by a single strand of yellow.

Once they are walking along the same pace, next to each other, Kamui grips on her shoulder for a long few seconds and lets go after he is sure she is looking at him. Misaki feels her lips twitch, and joins Kamui as they cross the road.

Kamui is not the only one—Shin-san has seen her do that, too, and he always sighs with a smile. The others are less obvious about how they feel about it; Miwa has never said anything, never noticed anything, but he does tend to pretend for her own sake, and she is grateful for it.

 

 

She keeps the scrunchy in the same place where she keeps her treasures; in a sealed box with the key hanging over her neck, dangling close to her heart. She has wanted to keep the scrunchy on her wrist, but the sensation of her blood running through her veins beneath the fabric chokes; it’s too much—it reminds her of the past where fingers would caress and words would be whispered, and before she knows it, Misaki feels whole with love and longing again, a never-ending fill.

 

 

“Don’t you want to find her?” Aichi has asked once, when he is back home in Japan, skimming through his cards and spreading them about, with Misaki across from him scrutinising the ratio.

“For all we know, her name is probably not Kourin anymore.” she says instead, buries her acknowledgement for Aichi’s capability to use his connections to form a search. Because they are already this far and Aichi has done nothing like it; he is devotedly waiting for her words, that much she knows.

He is waiting for her heart to overflow, to spill out wishes for reunions.

“Maybe she has her own life already,” Misaki adds, flips over a card. _And I—we are not a part of it._

Aichi has a look on his face that he sports whenever he wants to make an interjection, but his fist stiffens and his lips are pursed. His smile then is gentle, like a pat on her back. “You can always make your way into someone’s life. Nothing is stopping you.”

 _Except yourself_ , Aichi seems to says, and Misaki is inclined to agree, her mind nodding fervently at the unspoken words. Sometimes Misaki is scared of Aichi, of his sureness of so many things, of her adoration for him.

“You are right,” Misaki says, knows she is half-lying.

 

 

She keeps a framed photograph of the Cardfight Club within the confine of her bedroom, placed nicely next to her treasure box. There are several copies, one of which she stuck in an album and several others distributed around the other four. Kourin has taken one, too, and Misaki wonders if it’s gone after the aftermath of Link Joker, after Takuto’s disappearance. She wonders if there are traces of her in Kourin, just like how Kourin has left a huge hole in Misaki’s heart, has left her remnants scattered around Misaki’s life.

A bit to the right of the box is a desk clock; Misaki reads the time and dusts her skirt, makes her way downstairs to dismiss Miwa of his shift.

It’s a slow day at work; various people are playing but no one has stuck by the counter for any booster pack. Misaki sits back on the chair and makes a list of pre-orders, barely registers a pair of girls rushing into the store and the slow and swift sound of the doors sliding open and close.

The sound repeats, however, as if nagging her to look up, and immediately her mind reels towards the memory of the photograph. The picture has had the right lighting to exhibit the right hues, the right places where the shadows fell, but Misaki goes on comparing the colours and lines, anyway, her breath caught as a flood of information is processed.

“Excuse me….” Kourin says, her voice hesitant but also familiar and painful and—

Misaki’s jaws click.


End file.
